L is for luxury

Nicky rolled over in bed. A ray of light streamed in through the window, landing right across her eyes. She groaned without opening her eyes, throwing her blanket right over her head. Why was it so cold? She wondered. She couldn't hear Marka getting ready for the day. It wasn't like she would have chatted to her, but it was like white noise to her now. Weird to be without after all those years. Her eyes snapped open, ready to yell a complaint, and then…

Right, she thought, yanking her covers up over her. I'm in prison.

She doubted she would ever get used to the harsh strip lighting that reminded her of doctors offices, nor the feeling of being watched; as she noticed him staring, she shuffled underneath her blanket to evade Pornstache's leering gaze.

She wouldn't admit it outloud, especially not in a place like Litchfield, but she was used to the finer things in life. She would stick a dirty needle in her arm no problem, but then she would go back to her apartment with the plush deep pile rug, and the king sized bed where she could sleep it off. If Marka had picked something, it would be luxury - and whilst Nicky would make a snappy remark or lambast her choices, she would reap the rewards regardless. The women here could barely keep the lights on, yet Nicky never had to worry about a bill or a payment that wasn't for drugs; in fact, she'd never paid a bill in her life. Marka handled that.

With a heavy sigh, Nicky threw the blanket off of her body. Pornstache wasn't going anywhere any time soon, and she didn't particularly care if he stared at her ass. At least someone was. She only cared that if she hit the showers now, there might be a drop or two of hot water left. Maybe. She tried not to think about the alternative, though her back tensed instinctively as she imagined the icy droplets splashing on her bare skin. She longed to soak in a bath, a steaming hot bath, where she could listen to music and shave her legs without someone rattling the shower curtain. Instead, she grabbed her toiletries bag that included the most expensive soap from the commissary that Marka still would have considered cheap, and a blunt razor that nicked her ankles every time without fail.

Nicky flung her shirt over the rail as she stepped into the shower. Being self conscious wasn't an option here. She tried to scrub the prison grime off her body and after a few minutes, when the water went from tepid to baltic, she hopped out with a shiver. She hadn't quite managed to wash the shampoo from her hair, but she cared more about the water dripping down her back than the suds at her scalp.

"You look cold, Nichols," Morello said from behind her. She wrapped a towel around Nicky's shoulder and gave her a quick rub. "Brr!"

"Really?" Nicky smirked as she turned round. She shook her hair out a little, spattering Lorna with cold water. "I think I look pretty hot."

Lorna blushed, rolling her eyes. "You know what I meant."

"Yeah," Nicky said. "Thanks for the towel, kid. Why are you here?"

"For a shower, obviously," Lorna giggled.

"You just gave your only towel to me."

"Shit," Lorna said, frowning. She sighed but shrugged. "Well, at least you're warm."

Nicky couldn't help the smile that lit up her face. When she was with Lorna, it felt right. The warm towel was like an embodiment of Lorna herself - soft and warm and there just when she needed her.

"Sorry," Nicky said. "I'll bring you another one if you want."

"Please," Lorna said sweetly. "Is the water cold?"

"Colder than my so called mother," Nicky confirmed. "That is to say, cold as fuck. Tell you what," she said, leaning down so that her breath tickled Lorna's ear. "I'll come in with you and make it hot if you want to."

Lorna wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I spent the morning cleaning up after the shower pooper," she said. "You do not want to see what's underneath my fingernails."

Nicky grimaced. "Shit, you didn't wear gloves?"

"Well yes I did but the Spanish ladies did my nails the other day and they told me pointed nails are in fashion now and well you know me, I like to be en vogue as they say...and um, they were a little too sharp for the rubber gloves."

"Okay, well...let me slip out from under your arm in that case," Nicky said, ducking out from underneath Lorna. "Here. You want the good soap?"

"Your soap?" Lorna asked. She eyed it suspiciously. "But you've used it."

"I guarantee you've already touched every place the soap has," Nicky said, frowning. "But if you don't want it, fine...if you wanna smell like delouser, go right ahead."

Lorna grabbed the soap. "They don't do that no more, not since we got rid of the bed bugs." She scratched at her arm instinctively. Sometimes, lying in bed, she swore she could feel things crawling on her, even if there was nothing.

Nicky raised her eyebrows. "It smells like flea shampoo. You never had a dog?"

"Yeah," Lorna said. "But he never had fleas."

"Lucky him," Nicky quipped.

Lorna rolled her eyes and planted a quick kiss on Nicky's cheek. "Go dry off. You know my mother says you'll catch pneumonia if you go out with wet hair."

"Well, I'm not out," Nicky replied.

"No, but you're cold." She pinched Nicky's nose and then touched her forehead to hers. "Your nose is like a little icicle."

"Will you swing by my cube on your way back?" Nicky asked. She leant against the sinks. "With clean fingers…"

"Nicky."

"Sorry." Nicky grinned. "But will you?"

"Obviously," Lorna said. "I wanted to show you this dress I saw in a magazine I found. You'd love it, it's so classy."

Nicky smiled. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm." Lorna smiled. "Now go! Go warm up those toes. I don't want your cold feet running up my legs. And don't forget my towel! I don't feel like streaking through the cubes."

"Well, now you've put that idea into my head…"

"Healy might keel over," Lorna protested.

"Yeah, Red would kill me." Nicky smiled. "Fine. But don't be long."

"I won't," Lorna laughed. "Thanks for the soap."

"And thanks for the towel, doll," Nicky replied.

She walked to a spot in the bathroom where she could get dressed, and as she did so, she didn't even notice how scratchy the towel was on her shoulders, or how her shower shoes squeaked against the tiles. She only thought about the long conversation that awaited her and the chat over breakfast about anything and everything.

So maybe luxury wasn't champagne bubbles tickling your nose, or first class tickets to faraway foreign lands. Maybe it was someone being there for you, really being there for you, when you need them. It was a scratchy warm towel in the cold. A squeeze of your hand when the world gets too much. Someone who cared if you were cold, or sick, or unhappy. And if that were the case then maybe Nicky had all the luxuries in the world, even in Litchfield.

A/N:

Hey, hope you're all well! I know it's been forever since I updated but I saw this fic on a list of recommended fics on Tumblr when looking at Nichorello stuff...no doubt that person no longer reads seeing as it's been literally years (lol) but I hope whoever does read this enjoys it. Thanks for the review on the last chapter. Feel free to give any suggestions for letters.

- Star xo